


Fix This

by Anonymous_Introvert78



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: A lot of self loathing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt Kim Jongdae | Chen, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know why I wrote this, I promise, Kim Jongdae | Chen Centric, Like really triggering, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Sasaeng Fan(s), Suho is really angry for a really long time, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, This is really triggering, but I did, but then he's nice, eventually, it takes some time, protective members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 15,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16113284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Introvert78/pseuds/Anonymous_Introvert78
Summary: He had never been so thankful to read 4:37am on his phone as he crept down the stairs to the hotel lobby. That meant there would be nobody there. Nobody to take his picture and throw it online for the whole world to see. Nobody to start a rumour that would end his career in a matter of minutes.He flagged a taxi and sat in the corner of the backseat, hunched in on himself with his knees pulled up to his chest. Only then did he truly start to cry.He had been so naïve. So arrogant. But she had seemed so normal. He had liked her. And he genuinely believed that she had no idea who he was.He had been wrong.THIS IS SO TRIGGERING! PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE HAD EXPERIENCES SIMILAR TO THOSE MENTIONED IN THE TAGS! PLEASE JUST DON'T DO THAT TO YOURSELF!





	1. RW: 1951 - 2014

**Author's Note:**

> Truth be told, I am absolutely ABSOLUTELY terrified of this story. It was written months ago and it's taken this long to gather the courage to post it. But it is excruciatingly triggering and the whole story revolves around sexual assault so if you are easily offended or affected by any of that then PLEASE STOP READING!  
> If you do decide to read on then please continue to be cautious. I will post warnings above the chapters that need them and if anyone wants me to remove the story, say so in a comment and I will delete it instantly.

               Jongdae lay flat on his back in the hotel room bed, staring lifelessly into the surrounding darkness as a single tear slid down the side of his face to settle in his hair. He wiped it away and turned his head to the left. She was still there.

She had her bare back towards him, black hair a mess of untidy strands draped over her unclothed body as it rose and fell in time with her sleeping breaths.

Swallowing down the reappearance of his dinner, Jongdae crawled out from under the covers and began the blind search for his clothes, groping fretfully in the darkness for anything that felt like denim or cotton. He knew he’d left his scarf, both his socks and one of his shoes but as long as he was decent, he didn’t care.

He had never been so thankful to read 4:37am on his phone as he crept down the stairs to the hotel lobby. That meant there would be nobody there. Nobody to take his picture and throw it online for the whole world to see. Nobody to start a rumour that would end his career in a matter of minutes.

He flagged a taxi and sat in the corner of the backseat, hunched in on himself with his knees pulled up to his chest. Only then did he truly start to cry.

He had been so naïve. So arrogant. But she had seemed so normal. He had liked her. And he genuinely believed that she had no idea who he was.

He had been wrong.

 

_“Anybody sitting here?” came the sweetly inquisitive voice above him and Jongdae looked up to see a woman standing beside his booth, pointing to the bench opposite him._

_She looked completely harmless, would barely have reached to his shoulder, but still he froze. This was the reason he could never go out for a drink. This was the reason the only way he could relieve his stress was to wait until it was nearly midnight before hiding his face with every possible accessory known to man and chugging a beer in fifteen minutes before power-walking home._

_He pulled his mask right up to the bridge of his nose and opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say but intent on politely sending her away. But she was already sliding into the seat, carelessly plonking her handbag on the table._

_“Thanks,” she babbled. “I’m sorry but I’m waiting for a friend and it’s late and she told me to find someone to sit with until she got here because, you know, she thinks I might get stuffed in the boot of a car and dismembered in some psychopath’s basement.”_

_Jongdae just stared at her. He had never known anybody talk so fast. And why wasn’t she asking for his autograph? Or a picture? Surely that was why she was here._

_“So I just have one question,” she said, leaning forwards with her elbows on the table and her chin cupped in her hands with a deadly serious expression on her pretty face._

_Jongdae prepared himself for the inevitable sprint for the door, followed by the dive into some dark alley to try and avoid the rush of fans trying to grab onto some part of him._

_What she said, however, was not what he was expecting._

_“Do you have a basement?”_

_Definitely not what he was expecting._

_“Um … no?” he offered, mind whirring in confusion at this truly bizarre fan encounter._

_“And you’re not a psychopath?”_

_“I don’t think so.”_

_“Good. Then you don’t mind if I just wait with you?”_

_Yes. Was the answer. Yes, he did mind. Very much._

_“Um … Well …”_

_“Perfect.”_

_Oh, for God’s sake. Take a hint, woman!_

_“I’m sorry but I should really …” Jongdae made to stand up but the way she whined like a small child being refused ice cream had him faltering._

_“Please stay. Let me buy you a drink. As a thank you for babysitting me? Come on, I haven’t even caught your name yet.”_

_That was the real kicker._

_She didn’t know his name? She didn’t know who he was? She had never heard of the worldwide famous boyband named EXO?_

_“What do you want?” she asked, pulling her purse out of her bag and extracting a ten dollar bill. “Name your poison.”_

_And there was something in the innocent way she was looking up at him. In the friendly curl of her cherry-red lips. And in the beautiful way her eyes seemed to be smiling with the rest of her flawless face. Something that made Jongdae sit back down and watch as she gestured for the bartender to bring them two beers, at his request._

_And they had talked and talked and talked and at some point, Jongdae had removed his mask because it was clear this girl had no idea what kind of publicity he dragged behind him everywhere he went._

_She was adorable. She laughed with her face all scrunched up and her hand covering her mouth. She told jokes that had Jongdae clutching his stomach as silent tears of mirth streamed down his face. She kept buying him drinks and hollering as he downed the glass in one. And then she ordered more, even though her own never seemed to be emptying._

_She was perfect, as though she were made just for him._

_Until she wasn’t._


	2. MM: 1926 - 1962

             Jongdae fumbled with his keys, the biting cold nipping at his single bare foot and reducing his fingers and toes to useless pink sausages.

It took several tries to finally get the metal into the lock and he stumbled into the hallway, shivering and wincing as the sound of his own chattering teeth seemed to echo louder than the door slamming in the wind behind him.

He kicked off his only shoe and hissed at the blisters his sockless toes had obtained in his shuffle up the driveway. His other foot was smeared with dirt and grime and his skin was torn and bleeding from where he’d scuffed it on the porch steps.

Jongdae stumbled into the living room and grabbed the first blanket he saw, cocooning himself tightly before making his steady plod to the kitchen and retrieving a mug from the cupboard.

“And where the hell have you been?”

He leapt out of his skin, the blanket slithering from his shoulders onto the floor and the coffee pot narrowly escaping shattering on the counter as he caught it mid-fall.

Sehun was leaning on the doorframe, arms folded and head cocked to the side in a very disapproving-parent-fashion worthy of Junmyeon or Yixing.

If it were any other day, Jongdae would have bitten the maknae’s head off at his disrespectful tone but his mind was too numb from the evening’s events to find the appropriate words.

Instead, he retrieved the blanket from the floor and resumed his coffee-making without bothering to reply.

“Hyung?” Sehun questioned, and there was a different edge to his voice now. Concern. It showed on his face, too, as he took a tentative step towards Jongdae, eyeing his bleeding foot and the scarlet snail trail it had made across the kitchen tiles. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jongdae snapped, clumsily splashing milk everywhere except in the coffee mug as his whole body quivered.

“Hyung …” Sehun started again, reaching out a hesitant hand.

“I said I’m fine, Sehun!”

He knew it was cruel. He knew Sehun didn’t deserve to be yelled at when all he was doing was trying to help. But he was too disgusted with himself, too ashamed to do anything but throw up walls to try and bar the others from his terrible mistake.

Jongdae could feel tears stinging his eyes and in his fear of completely breaking down in front of the maknae, he gave up on the coffee and shoved past Sehun to get to his bedroom.

He slammed the door and pressed his back against it, legs trembling, whether from cold or the urge to cry he did not know. He looked at the bed, lying pristine and clean in the corner of the room and he allowed himself to slide down the wall to come to rest on the floor with a thump.

He would never look at a bed the same way again.

He curled up into a ball, buried his face in the folds of the blanket and sobbed until he passed out.  

 

_“Where’s your friend? Shouldn’t she be here by now?” Jongdae asked over the top of his third beer bottle._

_Haesong – he had learnt her name was Haesong – checked the clock on her phone and gave a dramatic sigh._

_“As reliable as a termite.” She muttered, her thumbs furiously tapping the screen as she typed, and Jongdae wondered how she could still look so attractive with her cheeks puffed out and her eyebrows furrowed._

_“I think that’s unfair to the, in fact, very reliable termite.” He took another swig, relishing the bubbly liquid burning the back of his throat. “If you wanted something to eat your house, that is.”_

_There it was again. That beautiful laugh. And before he knew what was happening, Haesong was sliding into the seat beside him, her phone raised above them as she kissed his cheek. He flinched away from her but the camera shutter had already clicked._

_“What are you doing?” he spluttered, hand reaching up to wipe the spot where her uninvited lips had planted themselves._

_“Relax,” she swatted him playfully on the arm as she scrutinised her phone screen. “I’m just sending it to my friend. She’ll get her ass here in two seconds when she finds out I’m with a cute guy.”_

_Despite the copious amounts of alcohol in his system, Jongdae’s fearful instincts skyrocketed._

_Even if this girl didn’t know who he was, her friend almost definitely would. It was too much of a gamble to believe that two young females in the capital of South Korea wouldn’t have heard of him: the lead singer of a world famous boyband. And then he’d be in a hole he couldn’t climb out of._

_“You can’t do that!” he cried out, grasping for her phone. She withdrew it from his reach too quickly and too effortlessly. He was drunk. She wasn’t._

_“Why not?” And this time Jongdae could see past the innocent façade. And he didn’t like it._

_“You … You just can’t,” he knew he sounded pathetic but still he attempted to snatch the phone and still he failed to obtain his prize._

_“It’s just a picture, Jongdae-oppa.”_

_He froze._

_“I never told you my name.”_

_This was bad. This was very, very bad._

_“I’ll tell you what,” she ignored his horrified epiphany and continued, eyes twinkling with something uncomfortably similar to excitement. “You come back to my hotel room with me and I’ll delete the picture.”_

_There it was. There was the truth. She knew exactly who he was and what she wanted from him and now she knew exactly how to get it. She had his picture. A picture of her kissing his cheek in a bar. A picture that could end his career with one simple click of a button._

_Jongdae shrank back against the wall, trying to get as far away from her as possible. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick her out of the booth and make a dash for the road. He wanted to press speed dial and beg Minseok to come and get him. But then the entire world would see that picture. He would be ruined._

_“Okay.”_

_And he signed his own death warrant._


	3. EH: 1899 - 1961

          Jongdae awoke merely two hours later to the sensation of something hard slamming into his back. He lifted his head and came to the groggy realisation that he was still curled up in front of the door which Jongin was trying to open.

The barricade gave as he crawled out of the way and the lumbering pile of limbs crashed clumsily onto the carpet in front of him with a loud and comical _oof._

“Good morning to you, too,” Jongdae said, his voice hoarse and eyes puffy from the midnight meltdown, yet he still tried to force a smile for the sake of Jongin’s puppy expression.

“You look awful, hyung.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“How drunk were you last night? You were sleeping on the floor.”

Jongdae cringed inwardly at the mention of the intoxication. If it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t be riddled with internal torment right now. 

“So what was her name?” Jongin teased, nudging Jongdae’s shoulder and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Or his name.”

“I wish,” Jongdae spluttered as he subtly flicked the corner of the blanket over his injured foot, which was beginning to blossom in a variety of purples and blues. “My phone died and I couldn’t get a cab so I had to walk home. See? Not nearly as exciting as you thought. Go and find your porn somewhere else.”

Huffing with disappointment, Jongin straightened up and reached out a hand to help his hyung to his feet, shaking his head with a grin.

“Got the worst luck on the planet, right? Come on, practise starts in an hour and you look like you seriously need a coffee.”

“Yeah,” Jongdae smirked, grateful as Jongin finally turned to leave. “I’ll take a shower and join you.”

“Oh, and hyung?” Jongin stopped in the doorway, expression suddenly dead serious again. “If you’re going to stay out all night and then lie about what happened, it’s better to think up your cover story before you have to use it.”

And then he left, leaving Jongdae with a strong sense of uneasiness lurking in the pit of his stomach.  

Stripping off his filthy clothes, he climbed into the shower, sighing with relief as the hot water pounded his aching body. He imagined Haesong being washed away with the soap that sloshed down the drain. He envisioned her DNA slithering off his skin as he scrubbed it until it was red and raw.  He saw her face and felt her hands and remembered doing everything she asked of him just to protect his own image.

He gagged and lurched forwards, bending at the waist so that the vomit in his mouth wouldn’t be splattered all over his body. He choked it all up and then nudged it down the drain with his foot, cringing with disgust.

He was repulsive. He had prostituted himself to save his pride. He was no better than the contents of his stomach disappearing down the plug hole.

Finally, once he felt all remnants of the previous night were now dwelling in some sewer, he emerged from the shower, dried his hair, picked up his phone and saw the text.

 

**From:** Unknown Number

_Last night was fun. We should do it again sometime. H xx_

Appalled that she had apparently taken his phone and written down his number, probably while he slept, Jongdae hastened to type his reply.

 

**To:** Unknown Number

_You had your “fun” and the picture’s gone. We both got what we wanted. Let’s leave it there._

But just as he was on the verge of blocking the number and striding into the kitchen for a much-needed dose of caffeine, another message came through.

 

**From:** Unknown Number

_Tonight. Same place. 10pm. Or this goes viral._

[Image Attached]

 

And Jongdae lunged across the bathroom, only just making it to the toilet before he revisited his digestive juices for the second time that morning.


	4. AT: 1912 - 1954

          “And he’s alive!” was Minseok’s greeting as Jongdae shuffled into the kitchen, silently cursing his hyung for not letting him make an unnoticed entrance like he’d planned.

“Jongin-ah said you got lucky last night,” Baekhyun crooned and there was a wolf-whistle from Chanyeol and a wink from Jongin in answer to Jongdae’s infuriated glare.

He turned his back on them all, ignoring the sniggers coming from the youngsters – and those who acted like them. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of Junmyeon’s steely-eyed glower fixated on his back and he still couldn’t ignore Sehun’s eyes resolutely glued to his cereal bowl and his mouth that was uncharacteristically quiet.

He distinctly remembered snarling the undeserved words at the maknae before shoving him aside on his way to the bedroom and he felt the guilt joining the congregation of unpleasant emotions rattling around inside him.

As he was buttering his toast, thankful that the conversation at the table behind him had changed subjects, he felt Junmyeon’s presence at his shoulder and he stiffened.

“I am honestly too tired to get into this with you right now,” came the low voice in his ear as the leader reached for the coffee pot. “I just pray for all our sakes that you didn’t do anything stupid.”

Jongdae shook his head silently, his heartrate rising at the lie. He had never been a good liar.

“I didn’t do anything, hyung,” he mumbled, almost choking on the words making their way up his throat, still burning with the strong taste of vomit. “My phone died and I couldn’t get a cab and …”

He sputtered to a halt when Junmyeon put a hand on his shoulder.

“Save it. I’ve heard all the excuses. As long as you were careful, I don’t need to know the details.”

He returned to his seat, oblivious to Jongdae’s whitened knuckles gripping the countertop.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the photo currently residing on his phone, just a lock-screen and password – which too many people knew – away from being exposed. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact that she had taken pictures of his shirtless, sleeping body or the fact that he had let her.

Stubbornly swallowing down the third round of bile that threatened to spill out of his mouth, he gagged down his toast and sped back into his room without meeting anyone’s eye, muttering some excuse about having to find his trainers.

 

 

       Jongdae was a mindless machine throughout the rigorous practise session, allowing his muscle memory to completely take control of his body. He didn’t initiate a conversation with anybody, only smiling and nodding when one was started with him. He faked his signature whine whenever somebody brought up his midnight excursions and he was perfectly willing to let them continue with the notion that he had staggered drunkenly into some girl’s apartment for a night of passionate pleasure.

But that night as he pulled his mask high above his nose, slid on a pair of sunglasses and pinned his hair to his scalp with a baseball cap, he couldn’t help the tears from sneaking slyly out from behind the darkened lenses.

He was ashamed. He had been so careless that he hadn’t seen the net before it ensnared him and now there seemed to be no way out and every minute he floundered and struggled, he appeared to be getting closer to the fisherman’s metal hooks that would sink into his flesh and rip him apart.

As he opened the front door, he begged for it to creak and alert the others to his escapade. It remained silent.

As he closed it behind him, he wished for it to be tugged open again and for an infuriated arm to drag him back inside. It remained shut.

As he edged down the pathway, he yearned for a light to click on in one of the bedrooms and a head to stick out of the window, yelling at him to get the fuck back inside if he knew what was good for him. But the house was dark and silent and nobody knew. Nobody was coming to help him.

So as he climbed the hotel steps, ignoring the curious looks as to why he had covered every inch of his face, he made himself a promise: he would not fall prey to the beast this time around.

 

 

         “Jongdae-oppa!” came the ecstatic coo as the door opened but he was already pushing past her into the room, desperate to get out of public view. Her excitement dwindled into a seductive smile and hands that reached for his body. “Did you miss me?”

“Look, ma’am,” Jongdae stated curtly, pulling off his sunglasses and mask so that she could see the determined seriousness in his eyes. He wasn’t drunk this time. She couldn’t play him like she had before. “Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened and it will never happen again. Now, please, delete the photo you sent me and any others that you have and I promise I won’t go to the police.”

He tried to sound stern, authoritive, hoping that she would realise her wrongdoings and agree to his terms. He was in control. He was level-headed in a crisis, the voice of reason in a conundrum, the ceasefire in a fight and the shoulder every teary face turned to in times of need. He was strong and optimistic and _not_ a victim. This girl was not about to change any of that.

Their eyes were locked, both narrowed slightly. Neither broke contact until she reached for her phone and Jongdae couldn’t help the inward sigh of relief as he watched her pressing the buttons.

Then she held the screen up to show him the tweet she was one click away from sending halfway around the world. The tweet that contained his shirtless body in her bed. With her. Asleep.

She raised her eyebrows at him, challenging him, daring him to make her do it.

Jongdae had sex with her instead.  


	5. VVG: 1853 - 1890

           Jongdae never let himself succumb to sleep. He was gone the second her breaths evened out into soft sighs, and this time he ensured that he grabbed every single article of clothing.

His wallet had never left the dorm for fear of it somehow being stolen and his personal information spread over the internet. The downside was that all of his money was in it.

So he walked – or rather staggered – homewards, vision too blurred by the fuzzy lights that kept popping in front of his eyes. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he was fairly certain that his breathing was bordering on hyperventilating, draining him of much-needed energy and oxygen.

The peeled paint of the front door that they kept neglecting to have redone was the most welcoming sight that ever blessed his eyes. The handle gave on the first rattle and he crashed onto the mat, the prickling hairs designed for soaking up mud digging into his knees.

And then it hit him. The most terrible, mortifying, spine-chilling epiphany he’d ever had.

She never deleted the pictures.  

The whole time he was complying with her every desire and lying through his teeth when she asked him if he was enjoying himself, he had never thought once about why he was there to begin with. He had numbed himself; dissociated his mind so that he wouldn’t feel like he was betraying every moral obligation his mother had ever instilled in him.

And he had forgotten. So what was to stop this nightmare repeating itself again? What was to stop those pictures going up online if she hadn’t been satisfied with his performance or she got angry when she woke up to realise he’d run from her for the second time?

He was going to lose everything.

“Jongdae-ah?”

His members were going to be furious.

“Are you okay?”

His company was going to be humiliated.

“What’s happening?”  

His image was going to be ruined.

“Jongdae, look at me!”

His parents were going to be in pieces.

“Breathe, Dae-ah, breathe!”

His chest was going to burst.

“Hyung, what’s going on?”

His heart was going to explode.

“Get Kyungsoo now!”

This pain was going to kill him.

“Help’s coming, Jongdae.”  

Jongdae was going to die.  

“Match my breathing, hyung.”

It wasn’t working.

“In and out, you can do it.”

He couldn’t. 

“Look at me, hyung. In and out.”

He was going to die.

“KIM JONGDAE, TAKE A FUCKING BREATH!”

And he did.

“Good, now another one.”

He did.

“And another.”

He did that, too.

“You’re doing really well. Keep going, hyung.”

 

Several moments of shaky breaths and comforting whispers later, Kyungsoo came into view, his hands cupping Jongdae’s face as he made a show of filling and emptying his lungs so his hyung could copy him.

Jongdae blinked as his surroundings slowly came back to him. He was kneeling on the floor of the hallway, still on that scratchy mat, with Kyungsoo in front of him.

Someone was rubbing circles into his back and the softness of the touch told him it could only be Minseok. Junmyeon was crouched to the side, brow furrowed in concern and behind Kyungsoo, Yixing was trying to shepherd the others back up the stairs, hushing their whispered questions.

“Are you back?” Kyungsoo asked, returning Jongdae’s attention to the face in front of him.

He nodded, unable to find his voice through the hoarseness of his throat.

“Do you feel better now?”

He nodded again.

“Do you feel it’s going to happen again?”

He shook his head.

“Great. I’m going to bed.”

Jongdae stared at him, startled by the bluntness, as Kyungsoo pushed himself off the floor and stomped up the stairs with a noncommittal cry of “Yell if you need me but somebody had better be dying.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jongdae saw Junmyeon giving Yixing a meaningful look and moments later, the only people left in the hallway were the leader, the eldest and the violently trembling man on his knees.

“Do you think you can stand?” Minseok asked gently.

“Yeah.”

They manoeuvred slowly to the living room sofa, taking tentative steps and continuing with the hippy-dippy breathing exercises.

Once Jongdae and Minseok were seated side by side on the cushions, Junmyeon crouched down in front of them and looked his dongsaeng straight in the eye.

“Something happened, didn’t it? The other night?”

Jongdae stared at his lap, twisting his fingers together until Minseok’s hand closed over his, preventing his self-bone-breaking exercise.

He wanted to tell them. He really did. He wanted to share the burden and to hear the words “we’ll fix this,” that he so desperately craved. He wanted to know he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, infuriated at the tears that refused to stay within his eyelids. He was crying again. Why was he always crying?

“Hey, look at me.”

He looked up into Junmyeon’s stern, sleep-deprived face.

“Just tell me and we can figure out how to …”

He was interrupted by the landline ringing in the kitchen, a shrill warble echoing through the darkened hallway.

“…the fuck?” came the confused mutter as Junmyeon shuffled into the kitchen and retrieved the phone from its cradle.

Minseok’s hand stayed wrapped around Jongdae’s as they listened to the indecipherable murmurs coming from behind the closed door, waiting in silence to hear who exactly was calling at two in the morning.

The answer was just too much for Jongdae to handle.

Both residents of the couch jumped violently as the door crashed open and Junmyeon ploughed into the living room, his face a mask of pure, undiluted fury.

“Jun …” Minseok started to say but was cut off by a terrifying hiss of _“shut up”._

Junmyeon seized the phone from the coffee table – it didn’t matter who it belonged to, they all knew each other’s passwords – and twenty seconds later he was throwing the device into Jongdae’s lap.

“Read it,” he growled.

Jongdae had never been more terrified of his leader than he was in that moment. Junmyeon looked like he was ready to rip him apart with his bare hands and if it wasn’t for Minseok’s protective arm around the younger’s shoulders, he probably would have.

Three pairs of eyes lowered to the phone screen and Jongdae scanned the news article that was laid out in front of him.

**“ALL THINGS KPOP” REPORTS**

Not these lunatics again. Couldn’t they keep their noses out for once?

**BREAKING NEWS**

Apparently, it was breaking news if an idol got their toenails clipped.

**EXO’S CHEN SPOTTED IN A BAR WITH A FEMALE COMPANION**

Shit.

**THE IDENTITY OF WHOM HAS BEEN CONFIRMED**

Oh, God.

**AS THE GIRLFRIEND OF HAN SE MIN: THE C.E.O OF SM ENTERTAINMENT**

And, in that moment, Kim Jongdae decided that he wanted to be dead.


	6. SP: 1932 - 1963

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Junmyeon’s voice was so low that it could barely be considered human anymore. He raised a hand and pointed towards the kitchen, physically trembling with rage. “That was our manager. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Jongdae just sat there, staring at the picture accompanying the article. It was him and Haesong sitting in the booth. He wasn’t wearing his mask and he had his head thrown back, mouth open in a roar of laughter.

It seemed a distant memory, as though it were all a dream he had woken up to but there was the evidence to the contrary, right there in front of his eyes. There he was, depicted as a frozen statue of glee opposite the girlfriend of his boss. What kind of K-Drama was this and how could he change the channel?

If he’d had any idea who she was …

“Answer me!” Junmyeon roared as the volcano finally erupted.

“I …” Words. What were words? How did he form them? “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what? That you were being watched? Or that you were flirting with the girlfriend of our fucking CEO?”

Spittle was flying off the tip of Junmyeon’s tongue, spraying the air with his fury. Jongdae realised that Minseok had withdrawn the arm he’d had around him and was reading and re-reading the article he’d snatched, his mouth agape in horror. Without his protection, Jongdae suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. And incredibly scared.

“I was drunk …” He tried to defend himself, pleading with his hyungs to understand what he’d been through. How he’d had no choice. “She made me … I didn’t mean to …” It was all coming out wrong. He couldn’t find the words to explain the full extent of the events that night.

“You were drunk?” Junmyeon shrieked, his voice rising at least an octave. “That’s your excuse? Fucking hell, Jongdae, have you lost your mind?”

No. He wasn’t listening. He had to make him understand.  

“Hyung, please, just …”

“That’s what that was, wasn’t it?” he gestured wildly towards the doormat where they had been crouched just moments before. “Finally came to your senses and realised what a prick you’ve been! Or were you going back out to see her? You were, weren’t you! And here I was about to tell you that everything would be okay! How could you have been so fucking stupid?”

Junmyeon let out a scream that was almost animalistic and seized the TV remote, hurling it across the room so hard that it created a decent-sized dent in the wall.

In the deafening silence that followed, Yixing’s whispers were just about audible from the top of the stairs, ordering someone back into their room. Jongdae didn’t want to imagine what the others must be thinking right now.

When Junmyeon spoke again, there was a terrifying calmness to his tone even though his voice was trembling.

“This is the end of you. You’ll be sacked tomorrow at the latest and no company will ever take you in. And what will happen to us? We’ll be a laughing stock. I hope your language skills have improved, Jongdae, because you should be buying a plane ticket now that the whole of Korea knows you’re a devious, cheating little …”

“Enough.”

And somehow, that one word shot from Minseok’s mouth like a bullet, laced with fire and ice, was scarier than Junmyeon’s entire tirade. Minseok had never sounded like that. Minseok was always the calm voice of reason or the high-pitched voice of insanity. There was no in between. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Minseok.

“Junmyeon, go to bed.”

Junmyeon gave a snort of incredulity, eyebrows raised. Minseok using his biological status to assert authority was rarer than Baekhyun keeping a straight face for more than three minutes.

“Now.”

Perhaps realising that if he didn’t obey, he would be vaporised by those piercing eyes, Junmyeon gave Jongdae a glare that could wither an oak tree and stomped up the stairs. There came the sound of him swearing at somebody – judging by the retort it was probably Yixing – and then two bedroom doors slammed in the distance.

Jongdae didn’t look at Minseok. He was too scared to see that fury, that shame, that disappointment. He wished he’d never come home.

“I don’t know how we’re going to fix this,” Minseok finally muttered. His gaze had not lifted from the floor since he’d spoken. “I really don’t. But I’m going to go to bed and when I get up, you’d better be ready to beg for the world’s forgiveness on your knees.”

With that, he was gone, softly swift footsteps contrasting dramatically to Junmyeon’s infuriated thumps as he ascended the stairs.

Jongdae sat perched on the very edge of the sofa, feeling nothing in his numbness. It was over. His career, his reputation, his honour. The reporters would paint him as a disgusting, arrogant bastard who had knowingly cheated with the girlfriend of the man who had funded his existence for the past six years. The whole world would hate him. But what was worse was that his friends already did.

He was still wearing his coat and his shoes. He had never taken them off.

So he got up off the sofa and walked straight out the door into the darkness, willing it to swallow him up and never spit him back out again.


	7. AM: 1969 - 2010

          There was no silver orb radiating a gentle glow in the sky that night, concealed behind the impenetrable barrier formed by the clouds. And once Jongdae made it to the backroads on the outskirts of town, there were no streetlamps to offer any illumination.

His feet were numb as they carried him mindlessly to wherever the hell they wanted. He had no say. He felt like he was dead to the world, just a walking corpse of shame, regret and guilt.

He couldn’t remember when it had started raining but he could no longer feel the drops splattering against his frozen skin. His teeth were chattering and his fingers were numb even with the protection of the sleeves he had pulled over his hands. His hair was plastered to his forehead and water was dribbling into his eyes but he kept walking.

This was his punishment. The hunger, the cold, the rain. This was his penance for his spinelessness. He could have sacrificed himself to the media’s snapping jaws but instead he had run and hidden and now he had thrown them all to the wolves. 

Junmyeon’s face swam in his vision, firing salivated bullets with every enraged word he screamed.  

_“How could you be so fucking stupid?”_

He hadn’t stopped asking himself that question since he’d woken up in her bed.

_“This is the end of you.”_

_“You’ll be sacked tomorrow …”_

_“No company will ever take you in.”_

He had been right. His career was over.

_“And what will happen to us?”_

He had doomed them all.

He thought of Minseok who could be forced to enlist any day and would have nothing to come home to.

He thought of Kyungsoo who would never receive a ‘yes’ from another casting director for fear of tarnishing the movie’s credit.

He thought of Yixing who would be shipped back to China and forced to pray that the news of Jongdae’s actions had not spread that far.

He thought of Jongin who had sacrificed his health, had thrown everything into this life only for it to be ripped away by someone parading around as his respectable hyung.

He thought of Sehun and Chanyeol and Baekhyun having to cover their faces in public for the rest of their lives for fear of a stray camera capturing the focus of the next _Guess Where They Are Now_ article.

And he thought of Junmyeon who had fought tooth and nail to protect and guide and nurture Jongdae since he was just a minor, throwing himself under the bus on too many occasions to count just so that he would be the one crushed on the pavement instead of his members. And now Jongdae had been the one to run him over.  

It should be him lying broken and bloody in the road as the car trundled off into the sunset. And the others should be behind the wheel, laughing and singing at the top of their lungs without a care in the world.

He felt warmth spreading across his back, burning through his jacket. And it felt good.

He saw the light dawning on the path in front of him, his own shadow silhouetted in the centre, surrounded by a heavenly glow like some abstract religious painting. And it looked beautiful.

He heard the growl of the approaching danger, the animal waiting to pounce and he turned around to face the metal monster speeding towards him.

It wasn’t stopping.

The rain was too thick.

It couldn’t see him.

It was going to run him over.

God had answered his prayers.

 

There was the screech of burning rubber against tarmac, a horn blasting in frantic warning, a distant yell of shock. 

And Jongdae closed his eyes.


	8. KC: 1967 - 1994

He never felt the impact.

Maybe it was because he’d been killed instantly but he never felt any pain either.

He opened his eyes and had to raise a hand to shield himself from the blinding light that attacked his retinas. He squinted through the glare and made out a face shielded from him by rain-washed glass. Its mouth was open and its body was trembling with its hand pressed against its heart as it came to the realisation that it was no longer in any danger.  

He knew that face. But he couldn’t remember who it was. He couldn’t remember anything. It was too cold.

There was a slam, footsteps, a yell, and hands gripping his sodden jacket.

“Jongdae-ah!”

He knew that voice, too.

“Are you alright?”

No. He wasn’t alright. He was dead. He had just died in the road. He had got what he deserved.

“Come on, Jongdae-ah, come with hyung.”

He didn’t want to. He was dead. You didn’t have to do anything when you were dead.

“We need to get you warm.”

But that sounded nice. So he let the arms pull him forwards and then he wasn’t being pelted with raindrops anymore. There was something squishy and comfortable underneath him and something soft wrapped around him and it was good.

“Hyung, can you hear me?”

He knew that voice too, but it wasn’t the same as before.

“It’s Sehun and Yixing-hyung.”

Oh. Not dead then. But why were they here? He had ruined them. They should be making plans to save their careers, not bundling him into a car at an ungodly hour of the morning.

“We’re taking you home. It’s gonna be okay.”

Was it? Was it really?

“Isn’t that right, Yixing-hyung?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Well, if Yixing-hyung said so then it would be.

“You can go to sleep, hyung. I’m looking after you.”

Okay.

 

The serenity of his slumber was rudely and abruptly ripped from him as rough hands pulled him from his comfort and bustled him over concrete. Fingers dug into his waist and upper arm until it hurt but they kept him from crumpling onto the pavement.

He vaguely recognised his own hallway but the lights were too bright and there were too many voices calling his name and too many faces swimming in front of him and he just wanted to sleep away the cold.

His drenched jacket was torn from his shivering body and his soggy boots were tugged off his frozen feet. He briefly wondered whether his toes were even still there.

“The shower’s running.”

Was that Jongin? He should be in bed. It was late.

“Shouldn’t we take his clothes off?”

What the fuck, Sehun? No, thank you.

“I have no intention of doing any such thing. Just chuck him in.”

That was definitely Kyungsoo. No way it could be anyone else.

Then he was moving, half carried, half dragged onto tiles that caused the sodden material of his socks to slip and slide in every direction.

He heard a soft chuckle and the mutter of “baby giraffe” and felt himself starting to smile before he was back in the rain again. But this rain was warm and steamy and glorious as it massaged the knots from his aching muscles.

And someone was with him, lowering him to the floor in a puddle of thermal insulation. Fingers were carding through his hair, helping the moisture to spread to the skin of his scalp.

“The things I do for you …”                                                        

Jongdae opened his eyes properly for the first time since they’d found him. The light was no longer as bright and the world was no longer impersonating an optical illusion.

Jongin and Kyungsoo were standing in the middle of the bathroom, folding up the clothes that Sehun passed them through the door. He looked up, blinking through the waterfall of delight cascading over him, and saw Yixing knelt beside him.

He looked exhausted and angry and miserable with his clothes hanging heavily off his body, weighing down his arms with all the moisture he was allowing them to soak up. But still he ran his hands over Jongdae’s neck and shoulders, working at the cramps the cold had brought until they didn’t hurt anymore.

He couldn’t understand why they were doing any of this. Did they not know what he had done? Had they not checked their phones? Had Yixing and Sehun just bolted out the door straight after him without knowing what had happened? Or did they know exactly what had happened and just didn’t want the guilt of realising he’d died out there in the darkness.

But as fingers smoothed circles into the nape of his neck, he didn’t care why they had found him. He just cared that they had.

“Thank you …” he whispered, unsure of whether he was heard over the roaring of the water pounding at the walls but he was fairly certain he’d got his message across when the corners of Yixing’s mouth turned upwards ever so slightly.

And for that brief moment, everything was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For one chapter, I was nice. And now I shall be horrible. Am I sorry? Yes. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes.   
> Also ... EXO COMEBACK FINALLY CONFIRMED!!!! THANK YOU, GOD!!!!


	9. VW: 1882 - 1941

          Jongdae opened his eyes to the familiar buzz of his phone sitting on the coffee table beside the sofa he had been deposited on the previous night. He rolled clumsily off the cushions and crawled towards the device, clutching at the blanket around his shoulders and intent on becoming one with the fluffiness.

He dug the crystals of sleep from the corners of his blurry eyes and stared down at the number of unread messages: twenty-seven.

A blossom of dread bloomed in the pit of his stomach as a trembling finger clicked on the text icon.

 

**From:** Eomma

_Jongdae, have you seen the news? What happened? Call me, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice._

**From:** Hyung

_Kid, you need to answer your goddamn phone. The internet’s blowing up about you and this girl and Eomma’s going to have a heart attack if she doesn’t hear from you. Just pick up, you punk!_

**From:** Appa

_BOY, YOU’D BETTER HOPE I DON’T GET MY HANDS ON YOU. I AM DISGUSTED. I DID NOT RAISE YOU TO SNATCH ANOTHER MAN’S GIRL, ESPECIALLY A MAN WHO MADE YOU WHAT YOU ARE. YOU’VE HUMILIATED ME. HOW AM I EVER SUPPOSED TO SHOW MY FACE IN PUBLIC AGAIN KNOWING I PRODUCED A FILTHY, TRAITOROUS CHEATER? YOU HAVE BROUGHT SHAME ON THIS FAMILY, BOY, AND YOU HAD BETTER COME UP WITH SOME INCREDIBLE WAY TO RECTIFY ALL OF THIS OTHERWISE YOU CAN TAKE MY NAME OFF YOUR BIRTH CERTIFICATE._

It went on and on and on and on. There were more from his mother, his aunt, his cousins, his manager, reporters who had somehow got their talons on his number, his grandmother for God’s sakes. He didn’t even know she could use a phone.

There were too many questions, accusations, insults. He browsed through the articles online and tears formulated in his eyes at the sight of the comments below the various distortions of the real events that had occurred that night at the bar.

Fans who had screamed his name as he sang his heart out in front of them and had squealed in excitement when he raised his hand, were saying how disappointed they were in him. How they hated him. How they wished he would just leave EXO and throw himself off a bridge.

Jongdae pulled his knees up to his chest on the floor in front of the sofa, cradling the phone that bore the news of his betrayal for the entire world to see. He felt like screaming, tearing his hair out, breaking something, hitting someone, but he knew that nothing could stop the oncoming tsunami. And once it hit, he wasn’t sure anything would be left standing.

“Hyung?”

He looked up sharply but it was just Sehun, hovering tentatively in the doorway as though he wasn’t sure he was permitted to come any further. Sehun always seemed to be there in times of crisis. And Jongdae always seemed to send him away.

“You shouldn’t be looking online, hyung,” the maknae whispered, still not daring to take a single step forwards. Clearly the memory of Jongdae slicing him open in the kitchen that night was too fresh. Jongdae knew he hated being yelled at, and it only made the despair within him thrive.

“I’m so sorry, Sehun-ah,” he gulped, unable to look the kid in the eye. “If I could take it back, I would.” He didn’t even know if he was talking about biting the kid’s head off or ruining his career.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Sehun shuffling uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Clearly he had been hurt by his hyung but was too shy to say so.

“What’s done is done,” he began, but any further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Junmyeon. With a single look, he had Sehun scurrying from the room and shutting the door quietly behind him.

Junmyeon took one look at Jongdae, at the bags under his eyes, the fragility of his exhausted body, the paleness of his malnourished skin, and sighed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing his hair even further up his forehead. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” is what he finally settled on, and there was sincerity in his voice even if it was directed at the floor. “But you can’t just run away from this, Jongdae-ah. We have to figure out how we’re going to handle it.”

Jongdae just nodded, afraid that if he spoke, it might trigger another screaming fit and last night had been enough to tell him never to get on Junmyeon’s bad side again.

“Manager-hyung called a few minutes ago and he’s coming over later today to talk to you.”

It was a mess. It was all such a mess.

“Just … apologise until you’re blue in the face, don’t talk back and agree with everything he says. You’ve lost your right to your preferences.”

He had lost the right to his preferences two days ago. It hadn’t been his preference to go up to the hotel with her. It hadn’t been his preference to sleep with her. It hadn’t been his preference to go back and endure the exact same torment the very next night. None of this had been his preference.

But he could never admit that to the others. He couldn’t stand the shame of telling them he had been so easily fooled by a girl barely out of her teens. He would let them believe it had been his choice because anything was better than the truth.

“Yes, hyung.”

Junmyeon nodded awkwardly and turned to leave but stopped in the doorway. Jongdae waited for the ‘you’ve disappointed me’ or ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this’ or ‘you can consider our friendship over’ but what he got instead was:

“Just make sure you eat something.”


	10. CM: 1982 - 2013

            Everyone was avoiding him.

They would hurriedly turn away when he caught them staring. They would make some excuse if they found themselves alone in a room with him. They wouldn’t initiate contact or communication of any kind. Not even the ones who had cared for him the night before.

There were a couple of times when Baekhyun or Jongin looked like they were going to say something but they always backed out at the last minute. Chanyeol hadn’t even emerged from his room and Kyungsoo merely slumped in a chair, tapping some unknown rhythm on his knee as he gazed off into space.

There was no malice. No one was glaring or muttering insults under their breath. All the anger just seemed to have receded into exhaustion and depression.

They had been put on a hiatus from all practises and schedules, the end of which was not foreseeable. So they just sat in silence in their rooms, the living room or the kitchen. Minseok and Yixing had taken all their phones so they couldn’t browse through the hate bombarding their screens and the TV remote had been confiscated.

Jongdae was thankful when the manager finally arrived because it meant he had something to do. The kitchen cleared and they sat on opposite sides of the table, arms folded in front of them and expressions serious.

“I don’t think I need to tell you that you’re in some deep shit here, kid.”

Jongdae nodded.

“The CEO is calling for your job and we can’t be certain he’s not going to try and accuse you of taking advantage of the girl or something along those lines.”

Jongdae nodded.

“We’ve put out a statement to the press saying that we are dealing with the issue in an appropriate manner but the media is blowing up right now and it’s only a matter of time before rumours become facts.”

Jongdae nodded.

“I am obliged to ask your permission but I’m afraid you really don’t have a choice in this matter.”

Jongdae looked up.

“There’s an interview in a few days and if EXO didn’t attend, there would be uproar and we can’t risk any of the other members.”

Jongdae gulped.

“I’m sorry but we have to announce that you’ve been suspended from promoting.”

Jongdae was silent.  

“I can’t tell you what the future holds but I have to admit, Jongdae-ah, it doesn’t look good. I’m not sure we can fix this. The original article’s already had a quarter of a billion readers.”

Jongdae was silent.  

“I need an answer, kid. Do you give us permission to make the announcement?”

Jongdae was silent.

This was it. It had been inevitable but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It was over for him. And it was his fault. He hadn’t protected himself. But he could still protect the others.

Jongdae nodded.  

 

Junmyeon had been called in immediately after that and the necessary information was relayed to him. Jongdae excused himself so that he didn’t have to see his leader’s reaction. He didn’t know whether it would be anger, relief, empathy or whether it wouldn’t phase him at all.

He slouched into his room and curled up on the carpet, hauling the bed covers onto the floor with him and all the way over his head to create a fortress of self-pity that he could wallow in until he died. Because there was nothing left for him now. No career, no fans, no friends. His father had disowned him, his mother was in pieces, his members now had to fight to regain the dignity of themselves, each other and their company. And it was all thanks to him.

His phone, which he had procured from Yixing’s room, buzzed and he reached his hand out from under the blankets to blindly grapple with the table until he found it. He brought it into his cave dwelling and sighed at the unread message.

What would it be this time? A reporter asking for a quote? His mother begging for his contact? His father sending him his altered birth certificate? His manager telling him that they had decided just to cut to the chase and sack him?

It was none of those things.

 

**From:** Bitch At The Bar

_Oppa, I just heard the news. I hope you’re doing okay. Why don’t you come over and I can make it all better?_

The others congregating in the living room downstairs to discuss their fate must have heard Jongdae’s scream as he flung the phone across the room, relishing in the shattering sound it made against the wall. But no one came thundering up the stairs to attend to him.

He wasn’t worth their efforts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Warning: NEXT CHAPTER IS VERY TRIGGERING


	11. AT: 1996 - 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING

            Jongdae finally ran out of tears to cry at 3am, staring miserably at the ceiling from where he lay on the floor of his room. He was yet to go anywhere near the bed.

No one had spoken to him for the remainder of the day. Yixing had brought him a sandwich at dinner time but other than that, he had had no human contact since being told he was temporarily – but probably permanently – no longer a member of EXO.

Suddenly feeling completely bone dry, he stumbled to the bathroom to douse his face in icy sustenance.

He stared into the mirror, challenging the eyes that glared back at him. The eyes that had watched her taking off her clothes. He glowered at the lips that had allowed themselves to be molested by her tongue. He raked his hands through the hair that probably still contained traces of her DNA. And he was disgusted.

He was repulsive.

He was useless.

He was humiliated.

He was despised by millions.

He wanted to disappear.

He wanted to be gone.

He wanted to be dead.

So why not be?

Those were the words that he kept repeating as he descended the stairs to the kitchen, deaf to the world around him and numb to the core.

_I want to be dead._

He hadn’t made a plan but he knew what he wanted. He had to do it tonight or he would start second guessing himself.

_I want to be dead._

It had to be now, in the witching hour when no one would find him until it was too late.

_I want to be dead._

His final walk before he placed his head on the guillotine.

_I want to be dead._

He knelt on the podium, the blade right in front of him, glinting in the sparse light.

_I want to be dead._

He lowered his head. There was no way out. His hands were tied.  

_I want to be dead._

And he did. He definitely did. He had never been more certain of anything. No more cries for attention. No more risking his members’ health as they scoured the freezing temperatures for his worthless self. No more disappointing his family as they were forced to watch their beautiful boy deface himself for the world to see. No more shame. No more pain. No more feeling her hands on his body.

_I want to be dead._

And he let the blade fall.  

_I’ve changed my mind._

Too late.


	12. JB: 1976 - 2003

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING

           When Baekhyun woke, he felt it inside of him. He knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong. It bubbled up in his stomach, compressing his chest and formulating a sharp pain in his gut.

And it was at that moment he realised …

He was really hungry.

Shuffling with all the grace and stature of a zombie, he trudged down the stairs. Each time his foot connected with carpeted wood, it made a heavy thump but he really didn’t care. The others would sleep through anything after the day they’d had.

No! He couldn’t think about that. He was hungry. Hunger came first. Feed the stomach before you feed the anxiety.

He prided himself on being able to walk straight into the kitchen and find the cookie jar without having to turn the lights on.

He scooped out his victim and sunk his teeth into the soft dough, allowing a chocolate drop to melt on his tongue. Honestly, who had invented cookies? He wanted to build them a shrine.

He turned back towards the door, picking at a sleep crystal in his eye, and felt a dampness seeping through his socks before his feet flew out from underneath him. He crashed to the ground with a spectacular thump, grunting with pain as he landed on his backside and letting out a string of choice swear words that he would never have dared utter in front of Junmyeon.

Someone had spilt water on the floor he realised with disgust as he felt the moisture being absorbed by the seat of his sweatpants. Slipping once more as he used the counter to pull himself up, he reached for the light switch and illuminated the scene in front of him.

The only reason he didn’t scream was because his breath was knocked out of him with the force of a speeding train.

“Jongdae-ah …” he whispered.

He blinked. He rubbed his eyes. He pinched himself.

“Jongdae-ah?”

No reply.

“Oh …”

His feet wouldn’t move. He looked down at them to check if they were even still there or if they had fled at the sight of the horrors on the kitchen floor. As soon as did, he wished he hadn’t.

He was drenched in scarlet. It was pooling underneath him, dripping off his sweatpants and there were spongy red footprints dabbed on the tiled floor, leading right up to where he stood at that moment.

“Oh my God.”

He finally found it in himself to move but his legs wouldn’t take his weight and he threw out his hands to break his fall. The lake engulfed him, splattering up onto his chin and soaking through his T-Shirt.

He stared down at his trembling hands and tried to wipe them clean on his clothes, his body, his face, his hair, anything, but they only spread their crimson disease to every healthy part of him left.  

“Jongdae-ah …”

He felt like a penguin sliding on ice as he crawled towards Jongdae. The substance his hands were wading through got thicker and stickier the closer he got.

Then Jongdae was there and Baekhyun was grabbing him and holding him and cradling him and stroking his hair and frosting the greasy strands with blood.

Blood. So that’s what it was. It was blood. And there was too much.

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!”


	13. MS: 1982 - 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> I am begging you to be careful with this story. I have realised that it is beyond upsetting but I am going to finish it because I've started and we're already more than halfway through. But PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not read if you are easily triggered. I would give up a thousand views if it meant one person didn't suffer an attack or relapse or something along those lines. PLEASE, it's really not worth it for a story!

          The scream pierced the veil of sleep and thrust Chanyeol into a spinning tornado of confusion and darkness and fear. He barely knew where he was as he scrambled out of bed, his covers tangling around his legs and sending him slamming face first into the floor.

The screams continued as he crawled his way across the carpet until his feet got back underneath him. They were piercing, filled with terror and agony, and they had no end. There was no breath in between. There was just shrill, hysterical noise.

It was Baekhyun. It was definitely Baekhyun. No one else could reach that pitch and as Chanyeol almost collided with Junmyeon on the landing, he could envision his hyung being pinned to the floor as some monster sliced him open because there was no other explanation for the pain behind those screams.

He was the first one down the stairs, his hands embedded with splinters as he dragged them down the railing so as not to fault his footsteps, leading the stampede of groggy, sleep-deprived members to the source of the commotion.

He burst into the kitchen with Junmyeon so close behind him that when he stopped, the leader collided with his back.

Bile rocketed up his throat but he forced it back down with a whimper that was muffled by his hand pressed against his mouth.

Baekhyun was still screaming but his words were indecipherable and there were tears cascading down his cheeks in torrents.

Jongdae was in his lap, his grey face lolling lifelessly against his hyung’s thigh. His arms were spread, reaching out to either side like Christ the Redeemer as blood bubbled through the incisions in his skin and joined the puddle that was expanding at a sickening rate.

Kyungsoo was the first to move. He snagged two tea towels from the counter and hurled one at Yixing. The two of them each pounced on one of Jongdae’s arms, their knees pressing into his elbows and hands clamping over the faucets that had the tea towels stained scarlet in a matter of seconds.

“SOMEBODY CALL A FUCKING AMBULANCE!” Kyungsoo roared as Junmyeon threw himself on the ground in front of Jongdae, fingers digging into the crook of his neck.

Minseok was already fumbling with the phone when Chanyeol finally came to his senses and slammed the kitchen door shut, trapping Sehun and Jongin on the other side. He blocked out their outraged cries and pleas to gain them access and he overpowered their attempts to ram the door open.

With his back pressed flat against the wood, unable to move without permitting the youngest two to be scarred for life, Chanyeol watched with horrified helplessness as the battle of Jongdae’s survival seemed to be fought by everyone except Jongdae.

“You don’t get to do this, you fucking coward!” Junmyeon was yelling, clutching at Jongdae’s face and shaking him so that his fringe flopped uselessly. “You do not get to leave us alone with this one! Open your eyes, Jongdae! We can fix this! Come on, Jongdae, we can fix this!”

But Jongdae’s lashes continued to rest on his skin, denying them the privilege of seeing his eyes. Baekhyun was still in hysterics, breathing shallow and dangerously fast, drenched in Jongdae’s blood and clinging to him like the world would end if he let go.

Chanyeol blocked it out. He closed his eyes and told himself it was a dream. Any minute now, he would wake up and the biggest thing he’d have to worry about was whether Jongin had snatched the last of the cereal.

When Minseok manoeuvred him away from the door to let the paramedics in, he let himself slide ungracefully onto the floor, hands resting calmly on his knees and eyes still closed. It was all a dream.  

When he heard the sound of electricity gaining charge, followed by a yell of ‘clear!’ and a thump, he started walking himself through the _Power_ choreography, remembering every turn and flourish. It was all a dream.

When he heard the jumble of multiple footsteps passing right by him, he began to write a rap, tracing the words on his leg with his finger and tapping his foot in time to the imaginary beat, ignoring the fact that his toes kept sticking to the floor.

In a minute, he would wake up, go to Jongdae’s room and perform it for him. It didn’t matter that Jongdae couldn’t rap; he would show him anyway. Because this was all a dream.

Except it wasn’t, was it?  


	14. DC: 1936 - 2012

              Jongdae’s climb to the surface was slow and tiresome and he was just starting to wonder whether it would be easier to just stay in the darkness when he heard a disembodied voice echoing above him. It was soft and comforting. He knew it and he knew he loved it but he couldn’t remember why.

“Jongdae-ah … Come on, Jongdae-ah … Right now, I really wouldn’t mind a remark about how ugly I look when I cry.”

Why was he crying? People Jongdae loved weren’t allowed to cry. He needed to get to him. He needed to hug him.

“I’m so sorry, Jongdae-ah …”

There was no need to be sorry. Jongdae was the one who didn’t seem to be strong enough to his claw his way back. Disembodied Voice was helping him.

“If I’d have known you were going to do this …”

What had he done? Was it bad? Was that why Disembodied Voice was upset? Because Jongdae had hurt him? Maybe he should retreat into the darkness. He didn’t want to cause Disembodied Voice anymore anguish.

“I’m here now though. And we’re going to fix this. Together. All of us. I promise, Jongdae-ah. We’ll fix this.”

_We’ll fix this._ That sounded good. That sounded like forgiveness. Maybe Disembodied Voice wasn’t as upset as he’d first thought. Maybe he could stay.

“But I need you to wake up, Jongdae-ah.”

_I need you._ He reached up, grasping at the folds of consciousness and forcing his way through the opening into brilliantly blinding white light.

“Jongdae-ah?”

 

The moment he opened his eyes, it all came flooding back.

The bar, Haesong, waking up and doing a runner, the texts, the panic attack, the rain, the online comments screaming for his suicide … his suicide.

It hadn’t worked. He had tried to do the world one final decency and he had failed. Now there truly was no way out. He had to face the media, the fans, his parents, his members, his CEO … His exit was well and truly blocked and the only option left was to endure a lifetime of torture and humiliation as he was gradually stripped of every single shred of dignity he had obtained over the last seven years.

He felt the softness sandwiching his body and he realised where he was. A hospital room. The first time in several days that he had been in a bed and hadn’t been forced to have sex.

There was cold plastic underneath his nose, wrapping behind his ears and gently filtering oxygen into his airway. A slight twitch of his left arm told him that there was an IV embedded in the crook of his elbow and both his wrists were mummified in bandages.

Tears fell thick and fast as he sobbed at the blank white ceiling. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had wanted to be gone. He had wanted to be dead. Right? That’s why he had done it. No. He had changed his mind at the last second even though it had been too late. Why? Why had he done that? 

“Jongdae-ah, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here now. Hyung’s here. Hyung’s got you.”

A hand closed around his. Fingers slid into his hair and massaged his scalp. A forehead pressed against his temple and he felt tears that weren’t his speckling his skin.

“I’m sorry …” he whispered, squeezing his fingers around that hand as though it were his only remaining anchor to sanity. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too, kiddo.”

Only one person called him kiddo.

“Minseok-hyung?”

There was a soft, wet chuckle.

“That’s right. Hyung’s here. Hyung’s going to fix everything.”

That was why he had changed his mind.

“Okay.”


	15. LTY: 1984 - 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING  
> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
>  
> 
> I MEAN IT
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> NO SERIOUSLY, I MEAN IT
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> GODDAMN IT LISTEN TO ME!!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> FINE BUT PLEASE BE CAREFUL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Hyung, I know something happened that night.”

Jongdae refused to meet Sehun’s gaze as the maknae sat cross-legged on the end of his bed, staring at him with those eyes that were wise well beyond their years.

He didn’t want to talk about it. Minseok had gone home for a shower after he had been moved from the ICU to a private ward and Sehun had taken his place but he was starting to wish it was someone else. He didn’t want to tell the maknae the truth. The kid didn’t need to hear how evil the world could be.

“Sehun-ah, please …” he started but Sehun cut him off with a sharpness that was surprising.

“No!” he shuffled closer on the bed and grabbed Jongdae’s knee, fingers digging into the skin through the blankets. “I know we don’t know the whole story. I know you wouldn’t do what they’re saying you did. I saw you that night and you were broken. Something happened.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jongdae told him, still neglecting to raise his gaze. “The public have their gossip so the damage is already done.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Please tell us. Let us help. If you don’t talk to somebody, it’s going to keep ripping you apart and … and … I can’t clean anymore blood off the floor. Please, hyung, we can …”

The puppy-like pleas were abruptly severed by the sound of yelling from outside the room just seconds before the door was thrown open with such a force that it bounced off the wall with an almighty crash.

Junmyeon stormed in, his eyes blazing, and a finger pointed straight at Jongdae. Yixing and Jongin were right behind him, trying to snag onto his jumper and hold him back but the leader was a man on a mission that couldn't be stopped by or for anyone.

“You fucking prick!” he screamed at Jongdae who retreated into the squishiness of his pillows as though they would somehow absorb him and save him from this confrontation. “You goddamn cowardly asshole!”

Sehun leapt up to try and shield Jongdae from the approaching threat but Junmyeon shoved him roughly aside, reached Jongdae … and hugged him tighter than he had ever hugged him before.

It took several stunned moments before Jongdae raised his arms to return the embrace. He stared at the others who were all standing there, shocked but relieved that Junmyeon’s intentions hadn’t been something more violent.

Finally, they drew apart and Junmyeon took Jongdae’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

“Fuck you … Fuck you … Fuck you,” he whispered, and Jongdae thought how bizarre it was to be hearing such profanities when the touch against his skin was so loving.

He caught Sehun’s eye and suddenly the words were pouring out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

Tears started to burn their way through and Junmyeon tried to pull away to survey him better but Jongdae clung to the front of his shirt, keeping him at close proximity. He closed his eyes as the bed dipped beside him and he felt Jongin’s arm drape over his shoulders.

“She just came to the bar and sat next to me and we talked and I liked her, hyung. I really liked her. But then she took my picture and when I tried to get her to delete it, she told me I had to …”

He took a shuddering breath, his jaw quivering uncontrollably as he failed to manage his sobs.

But he told them everything.

And one by one, he felt them sitting down on the bed. He felt hands on him but they weren’t hers. They were comforting and not seductive. They were gentle and not rough. Fingers caressed his skin but not the way hers had. A kiss brushed his hair but the smell was 0% cheap perfume and 100% Junmyeon.

This was love. That was obsession. There was a difference.

When he was finally finished with his tale, there was a silence broken only by his occasional soggy hiccup and Junmyeon shushing gently in his ear. The guilt hung around them like a cloak, weighted by their sins and dragging them down towards the pits of Hell, promising them an eternity of misery for all the horrors they had committed.

“Hyung …” Sehun was the first to speak, voice croaky from lack of use in the last few minutes. “She raped you.”

Jongdae’s head snapped up and there was a sharp intake of breath from Jongin on his right.

It was a horrific word. A despicable word. A word that should not exist in society and yet somehow it did because humanity was fucking insane. And the youngest out of all of them had been the one to use it. 

“No,” he spluttered, shaking his head and looking desperately at Yixing for some kind of affirmation. “No, that’s not right.”

It couldn’t be right. That’s not how things worked. He had consented, albeit reluctantly. He had said ‘okay’ and he hadn’t fought back. He hadn’t screamed or kicked or tried to escape. And she was a woman. Women didn’t rape men. Men raped women. Men raped men. There was no other combination.

“She did,” Sehun continued. His voice was soft and reassuring and the hand he had on Jongdae’s leg was gentle and comforting. But his words were poison. “She forced you. You said so yourself. You didn’t want to do it and she knew you didn’t want to do it but she made you anyway. That’s rape.”

He was right. But it was so wrong. And Jongdae couldn’t do anything but cry, gasping out rattling sobs as Jongin nestled his face into his shoulder.

Junmyeon pressed his lips to his dongsaeng’s ear, whispering the same mantra again and again and again as though it would somehow erase all the torment and the torture just by being heard.

“I’m sorry. We’ll fix this. I’m so sorry but we’ll fix it now. I’m sorry, Jongdae-ah. It’s all gonna be okay.”


	16. LG: 1980 - 2009

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite chapter so I hope you all read it carefully and that it has an effect on you.

They let him cry himself dry before Jongin spoke.

“Hyung, promise me something?”

Jongdae looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes, withholding a nod in case he couldn’t follow through. Letting any of them down after everything he had put them through wasn’t an option.

“If you ever … get there again … please tell someone.”

Oh. That.

“It doesn’t have to be one of us,” Sehun interjected. “Just anybody.”

“I …” Jongdae croaked, feeling shame and guilt blossoming tenfold in his gut.

“We almost lost you.”

Junmyeon’s words brought about a silence that shouldn’t be heard. No space of time deserved to be filled with so much pain.

“Your heart stopped, Dae-ah. They replaced your entire blood volume.”

Jongdae felt his breath hitching. It felt like years since Junmyeon had used that nickname.

“If Baekhyun hadn’t found you when he did …”

He trailed off, his mind drawing up terrifying ideas of who it would have been to walk in on a blood-soaked body in their kitchen with no hope of revival. Sehun usually got up first. The thought of the maknae screaming like Baekhyun had – hysterical and inconsolable and currently wrapped in Kyungsoo’s arms at the dorm – was too much to comprehend.

He cleared his throat and continued, making sure he looked Jongdae right in the eye.

“If anything happened to you, none of us would ever forgive ourselves. If you thought we would be better off without you, you have never been so wrong in your life.”

“I’m sorry …” Jongdae whispered, fresh tears forging their path down his cheeks, something that had occurred more times in the past week than it had in his entire life.

Junmyeon reached up and swatted them aside with his thumb. “Do you know how you can make it up to me? Look at Jongin and promise him.”

Without a second’s hesitation, Jongdae turned his head to Jongin, grabbed hold of his hand and said with more sincerity than any of them had heard him use before, “If I ever get there again, I promise I will tell you.” 

 

After Sehun had finished teasing Jongin for pretending he wasn’t crying, Yixing, who had been completely silent throughout, pulled his phone from his pocket.

“There’s something you’re gonna want to see,” he said with a smile.

Jongdae shook his head. If it was on a phone, he didn’t want to see it. Right now, a phone meant hate and he really couldn’t deal with anymore of that.

“Trust me, you do.”

Yixing fiddled with the screen and then held it up so they could all hear the voices emanating from the speakers.

_“Hello and welcome back to **[random radio show name that I can’t think up because I’m unimaginative]**. I’m your host, **[random name that I can’t think up because I’m unimaginative]** and right now I have a very special guest in the studio with me. He’s chosen to remain anonymous which is a great shame because the performance he’s about to give us is well-deserving of plenty of credit. So if you’d like to say hello ...”_

_“Yes, hi, everyone …”_

Jongdae blanched, eyes widening.

“Is that …?”

“Chanyeol? Yep.”

“Shush! Listen!”

_“I really wanted to come on this morning and share a rap I wrote a couple of days ago. I’m afraid it’s quite dark but it’s a message I think we all need to hear at some point in our lives. I want to say to someone who I hope is listening to this right now: you are loved by more people than you could ever fathom, you are needed more than you could ever understand and I’m so sorry that I didn’t notice you were drowning and needed someone to save you. So this is for my hyung and also for everybody out there struggling to keep their head above water.”_

Jongdae felt a warm sensation spreading inside of him and he smiled for what felt like the first time in months.

_“Please don’t kill yourself_

_I’m talking to you_

_And I don’t pretend to know everything that you’ve been through_

_But if it’s shame you’re feeling, just know that I’ve sinned too_

_And if it’s pain you’re feeling, just know that that’s something I went through_

_I don’t know your story but I know you and me are a lot alike_

_So let me talk to you for a moment while I’ve got this mic_

_I was eighteen when I first pulled a gun out_

_At the time, it seemed like my options had run out_

_So I put that barrel to my chest and I pulled the trigger halfway_

_I tried to muster up the courage to put myself away that day_

_But halfway into that trigger-pull, I stopped_

_Tears flooded my eyes and that pistol dropped_

_And I sat in my room and I sobbed for an hour_

_On the outside, I was fine, on the inside, a coward_

_The noise of my depression had gotten louder and louder_

_I had planned a way out in a baptism shower of gunpowder_

_I’d been lied to just like you’re being lied to now_

_Other people can’t help you but I might know how_

_Because I’ve walked in your shoes and I’ve been at my lowest_

_And if you don’t know anything, know this:_

_You might tell me you’re going to kill yourself and you’re close to this_

_But I’m here to meet you in the middle of your hopelessness_

_I wish I could give you a way out from these feelings of doubt_

_And the chaos might be reverberating around you like heavy metal_

_But confusion isn’t from God, it’s straight for the devil_

_And he wants to silence the noise and bring peace to you_

_And I promise if you just let me, I’ll see you through_

_You got to this point because you tried fighting your own fight_

_And where did that get you except contemplating taking your own life?_

_And if you got bullied to this point, I’m sorry you went through that_

_I wish I could take those words from your attackers and send them back_

_You don’t have to be defined by what people said about you_

_Let me pick you up if you don’t know how to_

_You’re not alone, man, you’ve got a friend in me_

_You’ve got better days ahead of you, I just pray you begin to see_

_Know that everything the devil did to you, he wants to replay_

_But everything the devil took from you, I want to replace_

_You’d better listen to me right now and look me right in the face_

_You were created for more than to die in this place_

_Don’t do it, man, please don’t take your life_

_Just take my hand and we’ll make this right_

_I promise if you do this, you’ll regret it_

_You’ll wake up in eternity and remember I said it_

_And you’ll wish so bad you could just go back_

_I’m here for you right now, please just know that_

_And if you think you’re alone in this fight, you’ve been lied to_

_That depression came after me and I nearly died to_

_I thought suicide was the only way and death was meant for me_

_The devil played his music and I sat front row through that symphony_

_I walked through the fire and I felt that heat_

_But I pushed past the clutter and I stood to my feet_

_I walked out and I refused to look back_

_I took my depression and threw it right back into that woodstack_

_And the flames must have blazed fifty feet high_

_And now I plan on leaving a legacy to look back on someday when I die_

_And right now I’m telling you to stand up too_

_Deep down inside, you know it’s the right thing to do_

_Think about your family, think about you_

_Don’t kill yourself, please don’t do it_

_Whatever you’re facing, you’ve got friends to see you through it_

_I had a cousin kill himself and his mom asked if I could go see her_

_She was depressed and asked if I could meet her_

_Two weeks later, depression beat her_

_She ran into a telephone pole without a seatbelt in a two-seater_

_And I wish right now I could crawl through these speakers_

_And somehow convince you not to go the same route she did_

_I wish I could change the fact that you feel defeated_

_I wish I could lock my arms around you and tell those voices to beat it_

_But I can’t reach everyone even though I do my best to try_

_Some people believe the lie that it’s just best to die_

_And they think it’s the simple way out_

_But they’re not here to see the way things play out_

_The hurt they cause, the pain they leave_

_I take this seriously, this isn’t a game to me_

_Even thinking about ending your life is living dangerously_

_So just listen to my voice, right now you have a choice_

_You can choose life or you can get drowned by the noise_

_Please don’t do it, please just ask for help_

_If not for your family, do it for yourself._

_Thank you.”_

There was silence in the hospital room before Junmyeon uttered the words that caused the joyous sound of laughter to reverberate off the walls.

“Well, shit, Chanyeol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish more than anything I could take credit for this poetic masterpiece (and I hope this doesn't count as copyright if I'm giving full credit to the original owner) but the spoken word was written by Clayton Jennings, a religious YouTuber whose work I have stolen and edited slightly. I do not wish any harm to Mr Jennings and I renounce all ownership of his work but if you are feeling in a dark place and really need to hear some words of comfort, I truly do recommend going to listen to a few of his tracks because they are truly amazing.


	17. CB: 1976 - 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new writing style I've invented. It's called "extreme laziness".

           “Are you sure you want to do this? You only got discharged from the hospital this morning.”

“No, I want it over and done with.”

“But it doesn’t have to be now. We can wait until after the police come and get your statement.”

“For Heaven’s sake, hyung, he said he wants to do it and I ain’t standing here forever so let’s just get it over with.”

“Hey, pull your sleeves down. I can see the bandages.”

“Good catch. Okay … Let’s do this.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“It’s okay, hyung. I want this. And everyone’s going to find out anyway when this goes to court. It’s better they hear it from me first.”

“If you’re sure. Kyungsoo-ah, is the camera ready?”

“It’s been ready for ages.”

“No need to …”

“Pressing RECORD in three …”

“Kyungsoo-ah!”

“Two …”

“I hope you choke in your sleep.”

“One.”

“Hey, guys, it’s Baekhyun here! Now I know that there’s been a lot of stuff in the media lately and we really wanted to just talk to you guys because we love you and you all deserve the truth for supporting us all these years. So if you could just take a few moments of your time to watch this video, we would be immensely grateful. Jongdae-ah?”

“Yeah, hi, everyone. First, I want to say that I am truly sorry we didn’t address this earlier and for any of our fans out there who are disappointed in me, I completely understand and, trust me, I feel exactly the same way.

I found myself in a very horrible situation recently where I was not careful enough while out in public. A fan approached me and pretended like she did not know who I was and I was naïve enough to believe her. In addition, I did not know her identity so therefore I had no idea who she was in a relationship with. That is solely my fault.

But I can promise all of you that I did not have nor currently have any romantic – or for that matter, positive – feelings for her and I am deeply ashamed of how I allowed her to manipulate and blackmail me.  

I would like to apologise again and just add that any hate or anger any of you have should be directed at me and me only. Not my family, not the members or anyone else. Just me. I take sole responsibility.

Thank you for taking the time to listen to us and if you’ve decided that your time with Exo has come to an end, thank you for believing in us.”

“Yeah, thanks, guys. We love you! Bye!”

“Okay, how was that?”

“Cheesy and cliché but you looked pitiful enough. We just have to keep our fingers crossed.”

“Okay, give it here and I’ll send it to the new manager.”

“Hey, Baekhyun-hyung?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for agreeing to do that with me. I know you’ve had a really rough time trying to forget … what you saw and it really means a lot to me, especially since I done diddly fucked up so badly.”

“Aw, you’re making me blush.”

“Shut up.”

“Hello? What am I, invisible?”

“All you had to do was hold a camera. It could have been done by a monkey. Stop complaining.”

“Well, you can just fu …”

“Jongdae-ah, where are you?”

“Baekhyun-hyung’s bedroom!”

“The police are here to see you.”

“Oh … Okay.”

“I can stay with you if you want.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t want you to hear what they’re gonna make me say.”

“Well, I’ll be right outside the entire time. Kyungsoo-ah?”

“I just got put in the same category as a monkey and you think I’m gonna do anything for you this side of Christmas?”

“Kyun …”

“Yell if you need me but somebody had better be dying.”

“You really should put that on a T-Shirt.”

“Oh, one more thing … _‘Done diddly fucked up’?_ ”

“It’s a trend. I’m starting it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHOUT OUT TO THE OWNER OF MY NEW FAVOURITE PHRASE!  
> YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!


	18. KJH: 1990 - 2017

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Last Hoorah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama Recommendation:  
> "Prison Playbook"

              Jongdae was a mess for the rest of the day. He had relived every single second, remembered every single word, felt every single touch and it reduced him to a wispy, fragile little thing that cried at the drop of a hat and flinched at even the slightest loud noise.

The others had cocooned him in a blanket, handed him a tub of ice cream and then scattered themselves around the living room to watch a film. No one touched him, no one stared at him but no one ignored him either. They were just there, comforting him with their mere presence.

As the film drew to a close, he leaned sideways, allowing himself to topple in his blanket burrito until his head rested on Junmyeon’s shoulder. They didn’t utter a word but the leader’s hand reached out tentatively towards Jongdae and he took it, granting his permission to initiate contact.

The police had stated that, with the evidence of the photographs and the texts on Jongdae’s phone, there was a good chance Haesong would be found guilty of extortion and blackmail. But the allegations of sexual assault had been denied because, in the words of one of the officers, no jury in the country would believe a pretty, petite girl had raped a full grown man.

Junmyeon and Minseok had ushered the police out immediately afterwards for fear that Chanyeol might throttle them.

“She’s going down!” Yixing had yelled as he pinned Chanyeol against a wall just to get them to make eye contact. “She’ll be convicted and they’ll put her away! That’s all that matters!”

But Chanyeol had continued to seethe and pummel Yixing’s chest with his fists until Kyungsoo had screamed over the chaos.

“Look what you’re doing to Jongdae!”

And they had all turned to see Jongdae hugging his knees in the corner of the room, shoulders wracked with panicked sobs with Sehun crouched in front of him, keeping a safe distance and talking him through his breathing just like Kyungsoo had taught them to.

That had finally been enough to calm Chanyeol down and Junmyeon had put a film on just to give them something to focus on.  

It had been several hours since the media had sunk their teeth into this new juicy morsel of gossip and none of them had been online since. It was too daunting; the thought of what people would say about Jongdae if they found out the truth behind what they were calling a scandal.  

When the movie was over and the credits were leisurely scrolling up the screen, Jongin grabbed his phone from the table where they had placed all of their devices, as though they were quarantined with some lethal disease.

“Jongin-ah …” Minseok started but Jongin interrupted.

“We have to check at some point, hyung.”

Everybody’s eyes were on him. Junmyeon felt Jongdae’s muscles tensing and his body stiffening and he tightened his grip on his dongsaeng’s hand.

There were twenty whole seconds where nobody said a word. It felt like nobody breathed. And then Jongin broke into a grin that split his face in two.

“What?” Baekhyun broke the silence, the traces of a smile on his face from Jongin’s expression but still a hint of uneasiness in his voice.

Jongin ignored him, leaping out of his chair and crossing the room in two strides to crouch down in front of Jongdae.

“Hyung?” he said softly and Jongdae released his eyes from their scrunching. “Look at this.”

A pale hand reached out of the folds of blanket and Jongdae took the phone from him, bringing it closer to his face to squint at the screen. Junmyeon peered over his shoulder and several others uncurled themselves from their seats to investigate exactly what was so brilliant.

It was the leader board for hashtags trending on Twitter. And at the very top with 1, 510, 000 tweets were the words – bold and blue and big as could be - #WeLoveYouJongdae.

Jongdae looked up at Jongin with a blank expression, questioning the younger’s motives to be pranking him in such a cruel period of his life. But Jongin just nodded excitedly, smile widening to swallow his whole face.

“It’s real,” he assured, as though reading Jongdae’s thoughts. “They still love you, hyung.”

Junmyeon pried the phone from Jongdae’s numb fingers and scanned the page before it was snatched from him and passed around the others.

“See?” the leader whispered, words concealed by the gasps of disbelief from those with the phone under their noses. “If the company try to do anything to you, the fans will go nuclear. You’re protected, by them and by us. I told you, didn’t I? We can still fix this.”

 

**If you don’t kill yourself right away when something bad happens, if you go on living, you become a different person. If tonight you are looking for a sign not to kill yourself, THIS IS IT.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: This story is dedicated to Robin Williams, Marilyn Monroe, Ernest Hemingway, Alan Turing, Vincent Van Gogh, Sylvia Plath, Alexander McQueen, Kurt Cobain, Virginia Woolf, Cory Monteith, Amanda Todd, Jonathan Brandis, Mark Salling, Don Cornelius, Lee Thompson Young, Lucy Gordon, Chester Bennington, Kim Jonghyun and everybody else who lost their battle. I wish I could have named chapters after all of them.
> 
> Second: Thank you so much for all the comments. I cannot quite believe how many came through (more than any of my other fics) and how supportive everybody was. It really was a comfort considering how petrified I was to put this story out. I know that the themes were really dark and I tried to be as subtle as possible with the violence and everybody was so kind, so thank you again. I'm polishing off another fic for SEVENTEEN and I think I'll start posting either today or tomorrow.
> 
> Third: WHEN IS THIS COMEBACK??? I AM DYING OVER HERE!!!
> 
> Fourth: Please be kind to everyone around you. I got told to kill myself in a reply to a comment I made on YouTube today and it did very little to help my mood. I know that everybody reading this would never dream of doing such a thing but please be wary of others around you and how they might be feeling and please don’t ever make a comment on SNS telling someone to hurt themselves. It’s just wrong.
> 
> Fifth: I tried to get across a few messages in this story. 1) No matter how dark it seems, there will always be people who will love you enough to shine a light. 2) Just talking to someone about something you’ve experienced can really lift a weight from your shoulders. 3) CELEBRITIES ARE PEOPLE TOO. 4) Please don’t scream or yell or insult someone if you haven’t given them the chance to tell you the whole story.
> 
> Sixth: Smile. Please? For me? Smile. You are loved.


End file.
